


The One with the Whipped Cream

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, In which Aziraphale has a sweet tooth, M/M, Smut, and they have the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wing grooming session has unexpected consequences</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Whipped Cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady Lier (LadyZitle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZitle/gifts).



> Written for the 2015 Good Omens Holiday Exchange! on LJ at http://go-exchange.livejournal.com/189096.html
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/136630688785/the-one-with-the-whipped-cream

Usually, Crowley got what he wanted.

Well, that was not _really_ true.  He was a fairly low demon.  So usually when he was dealing with other supernatural beings, he did not get what he wanted.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  But up on earth, when interacting with humans, he usually knew just what combination of cajoling, bargaining, and sweet-talking would finagle him what he wanted. There was, however, one thing he had never had the courage to attempt in the entire 6,000 years he had been on earth, and that was because he wanted it from Aziraphale, not a human.

It was a few months after the failed Apocalypse.  Heaven and Hell were leaving them alone, even more alone than before they had tried Armageddon, if such a thing was possible.  Which meant, perhaps, that they might be free to pursue some activities that might have been discouraged…

He had brought a bottle of wine for the two of them to share and pulled up in front of the bookshop, but then his courage failed him and he downed the entire bottle himself, convinced he could only do this if he were drunk.  He sat there for a minute, realized that his coordination and overall coherency had tanked, then sobered himself back up.  He dithered briefly before miracling up another bottle of wine, then stepped out of the car.

“Angel!” he said, slamming the door to the bookshop open.

Aziraphale jumped from where he was sitting behind the counter.   “Hello, dear!” he said, closing the book he was reading, but not before bookmarking it properly.

Crowley rushed forwards before he had the chance to chicken out once again.  The bottle of wine which had so preoccupied his attention before was set on the counter and promptly forgotten about.  “Aziraphale, may I groom your wings?”

Aziraphale blinked. “You want to groom my wings?”

He nodded.

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Of course you may.  Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

Crowley couldn’t suppress the smile that broke out on his face as Aziraphale led him up the stairs. Truth be told, he had half-expected the angel to say no.*  Grooming was a very intimate activity that angels only let trusted individuals do. An angel’s wings was an extension of their bare aura and very sensitive to injury.  And grooming required taking off your clothes in front of someone else, and you got the other angel’s preening oil all over your hands, and overall it was not an affair one did with someone they would be embarrassed in front of or did not trust.

*a quarter of that one-half had been _hell no_ , accompanied by being kicked out of the shop.

Or, at least, that was how Crowley remembered it.  He had not groomed anyone else’s wings, whether angel or demon, since before he had fallen.  Aziraphale was the only angel he was really on speaking terms with, and other demons….Well, demons simply did not groom each other.  They didn’t trust each other.  Letting a demon get their hands in your wings was inviting all sorts of trouble that everyone would say you were asking for.

Aziraphale had said yes, though.  Which spoke volumes about how much he trusted Crowley.  He wasn’t sure if he should be appalled at how foolish his angel was. Or maybe Aziraphale was just starved for good companionship—grooming was a major social activity for angels, and he rarely bonded with the other angels he crossed paths with on earth…

Aziraphale turned the knob to the disused bedroom upstairs and flicked the light on.  There was a rather dusty-looking bed in the center of the room, and a horrendously ugly loveseat against the wall next to the dresser. Aziraphale sat himself on the sofa and wiggled out of his sweater vest.  “I’m terribly sorry about the state of my wings,” he said as he undid his bowtie. He folded it up and placed it neatly on the bed with his vest, then started undoing his buttons.  “I’m not very good at grooming my own, I’m afraid, and I don’t have many opportunities to ask others to do it…”

Aziraphale turned and sat cross-legged, his hands on the arm rest, and let his wings erupt out from his back.  Their immense white bulk nearly knocked into Crowley, who had been standing there dumbly watching him undress.  The angel fanned his wings a bit, stretched them, then let them droop.  He craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Crowley, who was still standing off to the side.  “Well, go on then, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Crowley rolled up his sleeves and flapped his tie over his shoulder.  He took the wings in his hands gently, as though he were handling fine porcelain he was afraid to break.

Everything about Aziraphale was soft, including—especially—his wings.  Oh _Somebody_ , his feathers felt so warm and delicate as he ran his fingers through them.  He began combing them with a barely suppressed sense of euphoria; he was glad Aziraphale was facing away from him, because he was not sure he would be able to adequately explain the expression on his face.  Aziraphale had _trusted_ him with something this personal, and he was going over every primary and secondary and covert meticulously, zipping the feathers back together and smoothing them out and plucking the occasional stray, to make sure he did a really bang-up job.  Aziraphale was rather enjoying it as well; what he was experiencing was akin to the massage one gets while a hairdresser is washing their scalp before a trim.

Crowley dragged it out for as long as he could, and by the time he could not find anything else in the angel’s wings to fuss over, his hands were greasy with preen oil.  He gave the wings a final rub-down and said, “All right, I’m all finished.”

Aziraphale gave a good long stretch and extended his wings out in front of him, their bulk now smooth and glossy.  “Heavens! I don’t remember the last time they looked this good.  Thank you, Crowley.”

Crowley beamed.  He tried not to, because it wasn’t very demonic, but he had just done something that wasn’t very demonic, so he beamed.

Aziraphale gestured to the couch.  “All right, then, your turn.”

The smile disappeared off his face immediately.  “Erm. What?”

“You didn’t think I was going to let you groom my wings and then not return the favor, did you?  Come on, let’s see them.”

Now Crowley was resisting the urge to back away.  He began to wring his hands.  “Erm, Aziraphale…” 

Aziraphale gave him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile.  “I know I’m not the best stylist, but at least let me try, won’t you?”

Crowley realized that Aziraphale did not understand the gravity of what he was asking.  Crowley had been an angel once, but Aziraphale had never been a demon, and he had no way of knowing that a demon letting anyone even touch their wings would earn them endless mockery for their foolishness and whatever punishment the one they had trusted decided to mete out.  The last time anyone had touched Crowley’s wings had been in 532 BC, when a group of demons that all outranked him had gotten bored and decided it would be a fun time to hold him down and pluck all his feathers out.

But this was _Aziraphale._  He wasn’t going to do anything.  Aziraphale trusted him enough to bare his wings.  He should do the same for him.  If he refused, Aziraphale would probably be upset, and he might ruin things, just when they had been going so well….

But Crowley was suddenly painfully aware that he, a demon, hellspawn, an adversary, was in the lair of an angel more powerful than him, being asked to strip and expose one of his most vulnerable areas, and he could feel sweat start collecting on his forehead.

“Come on,” said Aziraphale, patting the seat next to him.  “I’ll leave my shirt off too if it’ll make you feel less embarrassed.”

Crowley swallowed, trying to mask his discomfort, and undid his tie, then turned around and unbuttoned his shirt.  He eased onto the sofa and splayed his wings out behind him, aware of how much smaller and sleeker they were than Aziraphale’s.

“There we are,” sang Aziraphale happily, and Crowley had to suppress his reaction to physically recoil when he felt the touch on his feathers.  The hands were gentle, but he was biting his tongue and pushing his face down into the arm rest as the strokes began.

 _Just let him do it,_ he told himself as he felt a mussed up feather pulled free.   _It’s fine.  He’s not going to do anything.  He trusts you.  You should trust him, too.  Nothing is going to happen.  The worst that might happen is your wings get a little messy because the stupid idiot can’t even groom his own—_

“Crowley?” said Aziraphale’s voice from behind him, and he realized now that he was shaking.  “My dear, what’s wrong?  Are you all right?”

Crowley now indulged his urge to rip his wings out of the hands and fold them back against his body, turning to face Aziraphale, who had a hurt look on his face.  “Have I made a mistake?”

Crowley could feel his face growing red; he suddenly found his lap very interesting, and looked down as he pulled his wings back into the netherspace where they were usually hidden. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you.  I should have said no from the beginning.”

Aziraphale’s face hardened. “You don’t trust me.”

“I…No, I…”

“If you didn’t _want_ me to touch them, why didn’t you just _say_ so?  Instead of letting me make myself look like a fool.”

“Because you _wanted_ to do it!  I didn’t want to disappoint you!  I wanted to make you happy!”

Aziraphale gave him a cold look.  “That’s a peculiar thing for a demon to say.”

It stung, and Crowley spat, before he could stop himself, “Yeah, well, I have some peculiar feelings for a demon.”

Aziraphale was looking at him with renewed interest; Crowley was beyond mortified now, and was considering dashing from the room without even dressing himself.

“Surely you can’t be serious,” said Aziraphale, seeming to catch the meaning the demon had hoped he had missed.

Crowley furrowed his brows, suppressing anger, not sure what to say.

Aziraphale did not believe Crowley because he did not think demons could know anything about love, and because Aziraphale, well, _wanted_ to believe it, and had been trying to avoid getting his hopes up, but hearing that perhaps Crowley actually _did_ —

Aziraphale reached out one metaphysical tendril and pressed his aura on Crowley’s, and felt it: Hidden underneath layers and layers of protective sarcasm and paranoia and fear and hatred, as though he had been trying to cover it up, was a feeling of love, buried but burning brightly.

Simultaneously, Crowley grunted and jerked away, gasping, “B-bastard!”

It was only then that Aziraphale realized he might have made a mistake and overstepped a boundary by probing Crowley’s aura without permission.  He had been so caught up in confirming— 

“You—” he began, but Crowley had turned and was hastily slipping his shirt on and buttoning it back up, mumbling something about the time and needing to water his plants.  Aziraphale began to panic.  Crowley loved him, _actually_ loved him, and he was screwing it up—

“Wait,” he said, and reached out, and hooked Crowley’s arm to pull him away, and saw a look of genuine fear flash across the demon’s face, and realized he had done it none too gently.

“Forget it, angel, just forget I ever came over, okay?  I-I’m sorry, let’s just go back to the way things were before—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale burst out, interrupting him, and he plunged forwards, “I love you!”

Crowley stared at him with wide, dumbfounded, uncomprehending eyes.  Aziraphale slowly let go of his arm.

“Aziraphale you—”  His face darkened with skepticism.  “Do you mean that in the ‘I love all God’s creation’ type of way or…?” 

“No.  I care for you, personally, very much, my dear.”

Crowley was horrified to discover he was straining not to indulge in a rather un-demonic display of emotion in the form of tears.  But he was questioning if this was real, and almost dared not let himself believe it. He had spent so much time wanting…something…But never even dreaming he might actually get it…

“Aziraphale, this better not be some kind of joke,” he choked out.  “Cause it’s cruel to get my hopes up that we might…”

He gave an exclamation as Aziraphale scooped him up, his feet dangling, the wind knocked out of him as Aziraphale’s arms came around him and crushed the air out of his lungs.  “Crowley!  I love you! Oh, I want to say it as many times as I can now!  I love you I love you I love you—”

“Az—sss—” Crowley struggled out as the angel’s arms tightened around him still further.

Aziraphale put him down, looking embarrassed.  “Erm, sorry. All right, let’s—let’s start again. Crowley, would you be interested in…perhaps more than the occasional dinner at the Ritz and drinking binge in the back room?  We could go beyond the Arrangement…”

Crowley felt like he was moving through a dream.  Aziraphale’s hands had made their way to his waist, and they were both still half-dressed, and Aziraphale was asking _him_ — “Aziraphale, are you…making a move on me?”

“I suppose if you want to call it that.  What do you say?”

Crowley blinked at him. “Yes.   _Yes._  Go—  Yes.”

Aziraphale was beaming; Crowley was a little concerned he might start burning from the sheer innocent joy he was throwing off.  He leaned forwards and rubbed noses with Crowley.  “Wonderful.”

The joy turned a little less innocent, then, and Aziraphale lowered his voice, “Are you interested in, ah, doing…”

“Hm?” said Crowley, unsure if he should let himself interpret the words in the obvious way.

“May I kiss you?”

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

But Aziraphale’s hands were on his hips now.

“Yes, please,” said Crowley, still a little dumbfounded.  He had spent so long wanting to see what it would feel like to have Aziraphale touch him, stroke him like he was doing now, feel his breath on his face.  He had wondered that, yes—but what he had really yearned for, probably more, was this knowing what it felt like to hear—

“I love you, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, and the demon melted into him, putting his hands around his shoulders and leaning in, their lips locking together.

He was soft here, too, and his hands were so tender around his midsection, and Aziraphale’s aura was warm as it caressed his own, and it just felt so _good_ to be held and handled gently and encircled in love that he could barely take it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Crowley, breaking off.

“Have I made a mistake?”

“No, no, I just…” This was going _awfully_ fast.  “I want to do it…”

“Do what exactly, my dear?”

“This, you know.” And, he was feeling adventurous now, so he added, “And its logical continuation.”

“Crowley, would you like to have sex?”

“ _Az_ —  Ah, yes.  Yes, I would. Just—give me a moment, all right?”

It was torturous to leave those arms, but he forced himself to do it, and wobbled down the stairs into the first floor bathroom.  He splashed cold water on his face and combed through his hair obsessively, examining himself in the mirror.

This was _real._  This was going to happen.  Sweet Somebody—

Now that the shock was wearing off, his mind was going a bit further.  He was just wearing his usual boxers.  But with a thought, he changed his pants into something a bit flashier, so that Aziraphale would get a surprise when they—

“Steady,” he said to himself.

He didn’t know anything about what Aziraphale would _like._ He felt like Aziraphale might expect _him_ to already be experienced in this, but the truth was Crowley just hadn’t.  He hadn’t felt the need.  Or that anyone was the right person for it.  Except Aziraphale, who he never in a million years thought would actually _ask_ him, so he hadn’t bothered…. 

He realized he had been thinking of the men he had tempted in the past and what they enjoyed, and he had tempted them with human women, and that in his flustered state he had just put himself in women’s underwear.  What….what did human _men_ wear when they wanted to— _please_ someone?  He suddenly couldn’t think, trying to push the memories of lecherous temptations out of his mind, but all he could picture was aggressive human men lusting after women that in reality they cared nothing for.

He gave himself a little slap.  He was working himself up.  This was _Aziraphale._  They had groomed each other’s wings.  They _loved_ each other.  That fact alone made him feel like he could do anything.  They could figure it out as they went along. They could help each other out and just trust each other.

He felt mentally steeled now, so he squared his shoulders, decided to leave the undergarments as they were, and walked out of the bathroom, climbed the stairs, and slammed the door open.

“Angel, I’m ready now.” He stopped when he saw that Aziraphale was putting his vest back on.  “Erm, have you changed your mind?”

“Goodness no!” said Aziraphale, picking up Crowley’s jacket.  “But we don’t have what we need.”

“What we need?”

“Dear,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley allowed himself to be wrapped in his jacket, “humans have been doing this a lot longer than we have.  We should follow suit and do this properly.”

And that’s how, fifteen minutes later, Crowley found himself at a drugstore, attached to Aziraphale’s right arm, his face red and pushed as far down into his scarf as it would go, as Aziraphale held two different bottles of personal lubricant in his hands, comparing them.

“Crowley, this one is scented.  Which do you think would be better?”

“Either is fine,” said Crowley, tightening his grip around Aziraphale’s arm and sinking into him to avoid the gaze of the other patrons in the store, whom he was _sure_ were looking at him and thinking very rude thoughts. 

Aziraphale decided, eventually, and Crowley avoided eye contact with the cashier, silently pleading with her not to say anything.  She, in fact, was looking from the angel to the demon and wondering exactly how much sugar this sugar daddy must have had to put out to hook someone like this yummy dark-haired boy, but she was nowhere near impolite enough to say anything, so she remained silent like Crowley wanted.

He felt slightly less mortified once they were alone again back in the car, though he wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive Aziraphale for getting him half hard and then dragging him to the drugstore.

They were on the doorstep of the bookshop again when Aziraphale grabbed his elbow and stopped him.

“What is it?” 

“Erm, this is a little embarrassing…But I wanted to ask you…Well, I’ve had this kind of fantasy for a while about this…  May I…May I carry you up the stairs?”

How, _how_ was it possible for someone to be this maddeningly lovely?  Crowley nodded, and then felt Aziraphale’s hands under him, lifting him up until he was bridal-style in his arms.  “There we are,” the angel breathed, nuzzling him.

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s collarbone, his arms around the angel’s neck, as they made their way up the stairs.  Aziraphale bumped the door open with his hip and set Crowley on the bed, climbing up on top of him.

He fell limp under Aziraphale’s hands, the angel undoing his tie and slipping it off, then working at the buttons on Crowley’s shirt.  He wiggled out of his suitcoat and tossed it off the bed, then picked at Aziraphale’s vest and helped him out of his shirt and tie.

Aziraphale’s corporation was solid and heavier than his own, so he felt like he was underneath a big, woolen blanket, one that was also caressing him in all the right places and planting kisses from his forehead and moving slowly down to his neck.  He arched his back, pressing up against Aziraphale’s stomach and beginning to grind on him as the angel ran his hands down Crowley’s body, resting them in the small of his back.

They were both panting and flushed and feeling wonderful.  He could feel Aziraphale’s aura going absolutely haywire, and Crowley reached out with his own and touched his, and they began to entwine and mesh together at the edges.  Crowley’s hand was now working at Aziraphale’s trousers, but it was difficult to undo the button with only one hand, the other tangled up in Aziraphale’s hair.

He got a surprise when he finally succeeded:  Aziraphale was not wearing any pants.  The angel continued what he was doing on Crowley’s neck, which was making concentrating on the zipper difficult, but the demon hooked his thumbs in the trousers’ waistband and pulled them down until Aziraphale kicked them off.

Aziraphale began to return the favor, snapping Crowley’s trousers open, and was rewarded with a view of pink lace.

“Oh my,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley could see both his thoughts and his blood rushing in some very un-angelic directions, and congratulated himself for choosing wisely.   He put his hands around Aziraphale’s chest and lifted himself up, wiggling his hips as Aziraphale tugged his trousers down and off, leaving them with just one pair of panties between the two of them.

Aziraphale settled backwards against the headboard, Crowley still clinging to him, so that the demon slid onto his lap.  Crowley arranged his legs so that he was straddling him, and he got goosebumps as Aziraphale’s hands ran down his ribcage and to his thighs.  He could feel one hand cupping his arse while the other stayed on the back of his head, keeping him close.

They stayed like that for a long time, touching and kissing and feeling each other, their auras vibrating and melding together.  Aziraphale, keeping in mind how he had almost scared Crowley off during wing grooming, and wanting to make sure everything was going just fine, pressed his sweaty forehead to Crowley’s and said, “Are you ready?”

Crowley swallowed, nodded, then leaned over to grab the lube, suddenly feeling grateful they had taken the time to get it.

The gel squelched between his hands and it felt…embarrassingly good rubbing it up and down Aziraphale’s shaft, which by now was completely erect and, in Crowley’s opinion, just a bit too large, which he would never say aloud.  He could feel his own cock reacting in interesting ways, protesting against the fabric of his undergarment.

He set the bottle aside as Aziraphale slid his pants down; he shivered at the exposure of the vulnerable area.  He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and whispered into his ear, “I want you inside me.”

He felt Aziraphale entering him, gently, and he inhaled sharply.

“Is that all right?” said Aziraphale, panting with desire just barely suppressed.

“Yes, Go—yes.”  The heat and the feeling of being _full_ was so much that he bit his lip to try and suppress an outcry, but failed.  “ _Az—Aziraphale!_ ”

They were both moaning and gasping and saying each other’s names as Aziraphale began to thrust, Crowley rocking as he rode him, breathing hard and fast on each other.  Their auras were folding in on each other and penetrating, metaphysical tendrils wrapping around each other and metaphysical hands holding each other and metaphysical lips locking together.  They could _feel_ each other completely, physically, mentally, spiritually, as frenzied ecstasy coursed through them.

They might have been embarrassed about how short they both lasted, except neither of them had a reference point and thought they did pretty good.  Soon they were both a bit sticky, Aziraphale on his stomach and Crowley in a rather more sensitive area.

They stayed in that position as they both came back down, panting.  Aziraphale slipped out of him and put another kiss on his damp forehead. Crowley was still clinging to him; he slowly lowered himself down until he was lying flat, the demon stretched out on top of him.

“That was…”

“That was…”

“ _Good._ ”

“Yeah.”

Crowley curled up, and Aziraphale hugged him closer.

They lay like that for a while.  It was silent, and they were just listening to each other breathing.  Crowley suspected Aziraphale had fallen asleep. He reached up and wound his finger around one glossy curl of the hair on the angel’s head.   It felt like both of them were glowing, but Crowley hadn’t had a halo for millennia.

He snuggled up in the crook of Aziraphale’s arm and dozed for a while.

Eventually he started getting restless.  He pawed at Aziraphale.  “Angel.”

One of Aziraphale’s eyes cracked open; he had not actually been asleep after all.  “What is it, my dear?”

“Do you…”  He fumbled around for words.  “Would you…  Like to… do it again perhaps?”

A soft smile broke out on Aziraphale’s face.  “I’m sorry, what was it you were asking for?”

“Do you want…”

“I might if you ask nicely.”

Crowley felt his face growing red.  “Would you please fuck me?”

Aziraphale’s hand brushed his cheek.  “Of course, dear.”  He sat upright, drawing Crowley up.  “Would you like try something…”

“Something?” said Crowley, hiding his apprehension.

Aziraphale fingered the hem of the sheets.  “We don’t have to, but I think you might like it.”

“All right, then.  Why not?”

Aziraphale slipped out of bed and padded out the door.

Crowley spread out on the bed, arranging himself in what he hoped was a provocative position.

Aziraphale re-entered a moment later.  “I was thinking we—oh, dear, are you all right?”

“Hm?” said Crowley. “Oh—yeah—just—never mind.”  He let his limbs fall back into their natural configuration.

Aziraphale had a can in his hand, and he was leering at the demon lecherously as he shook it.  “Lie back, if you don’t mind.”

Crowley did so, flat on his back, looking at the ceiling.  The bed dipped with the added weight as Aziraphale crawled up to him.  “Open your mouth.”

Crowley did so.

A few seconds later, he felt the cool taste of whipped cream on his tongue, and then the sweet flavor of Aziraphale kissing him, and _oh_ , he _did_ like it.

He felt the can pressing into his hand.  “You want me to…”

“I think you know what I want you to do.”

Crowley smiled wickedly. The whipped cream can made a sizzling _krrrr_ sound as he filled the divot by his left collarbone.  Aziraphale followed; his tongue was soft and wet as he licked it up.

Crowley drew a few lacy swirls over his chest.  He began to writhe as he felt Aziraphale lapping at him, caught between giggling and moaning erotically.  He tangled his hand up in the angel’s hair as another frothy pile bloomed into existence on his left nipple.

Crowley was feeling very wet with Aziraphale’s saliva as they progressed; he got a bit more adventurous and moved lower, drawing a swirl on his belly, and it tickled as Aziraphale sucked on him.

As the last whips disappeared, Crowley got some would say _overly_ adventurous, and went a bit lower.

“Oh, you _are_ bad,” said Aziraphale, a glint in his eye, and began to devour him.

Crowley could not hold onto the can as he felt Aziraphale’s tongue and lips in a place he never thought they would touch; it rolled onto the floor, and his free hand scrabbled at the sheets.

“Oh—Oh—G—Az—” he panted, feeling himself building up _embarrassingly_ fast.  He threw his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, began to writhe and moan, jerk his hips, tighten his grip on Aziraphale’s hair as if holding on for dear life.  He could feel Aziraphale metaphysically grabbing him, tasting him, consuming him and enveloping him with raw energy and emotion; he felt like his own aura was being overwhelmed.

A thought occurred to him, then:  He was about to do something dirty, which an angel’s mouth was definitely _not_ meant to be a receptacle for, and as he gasped and squirmed, he said, “Aziraphale, wait.”  He tried to break off and pull away, but Aziraphale’s hands were hooked around his thighs, and he could not form a coherent thought long enough to tell him he didn’t want to—

He felt himself explode all over the inside of Aziraphale’s mouth; he let out a whimper as he did so, and immediately broke into, “Oh, _go—Aziraphale,_ I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Aziraphale finally released him, wiping some white substance from his face, and looked him in the eyes.

“That couldn’t have been pleasant.”

Aziraphale smiled.  “I rather enjoyed it.”

“Uh—Oh.”  He propped himself up on his elbows.  “Well do you want me to…”  He gestured to Aziraphale’s region.  “To—return the favor?  To make us even?”

Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed.  “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

Crowley felt a little disheartened by that, but thought that fair was fair, and did so.

He felt the cold tip of a nozzle in his mouth, and the sensation of whipped cream appearing on his tongue.  He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale smiling at him.  “There, now we’re even.”

Crowley gulped the cream down, licking his lips.

“Blech,” said Aziraphale. “You’re filthy.”

It was true, Crowley knew. He had dried whipped cream and angel saliva and other unmentionable substances and even a few stray feathers all over him.  “You didn’t seem to mind a few minutes ago.”

Aziraphale drew him off the bed.  “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

A few minutes later, there was a bath running, in a tub that hadn’t been big enough to hold two man-shaped beings a while back, but had become accommodating at a glare from Aziraphale.  A layer of bubbles frothed at the surface.  The water sloshed over the rim and onto the bath mat as Aziraphale got in. Crowley lowered himself in next to him, feeling the warm water and the warm angel against his skin.

“You know, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, running his soapy hands over Crowley’s back.  “I never finished grooming your wings.”

Crowley had no trouble with this, now: they did it right there in the tub, Crowley’s lush wings wet in the steaming water, Aziraphale’s pudgy hands combing through them with as much gentleness as any angel was capable of, and Crowley with a lopsided smile filled with as much trust as any demon was capable of.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Linen Service](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301748) by [Lunasong365](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365)




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